Safire was still thinking about the spindle as she headed for the cabin Dax had designated as hers. She remembered her first encounter with Eris. She’d bumped into her, disguised as a soldat, and the spindle had fallen to the floor. Safire picked it up and handed it back.
The second time, in Safire’s bedroom, the spindle was there again. Safire had seen it in Eris’s hand before she disappeared.
Clearly there was some connection between this spindle and Eris’s disappearances.
What is it?
As she stepped through the doorway and into her cabin, two soldats greeted her. In the center of the lavish room stood Eris.
Dax wanted to put her in the brig, where Kor and his crew were currently confined. Safire prevented it, remembering the look in Kor’s eyes that night on his ship. Criminal or no, she didn’t want that man anywhere near Eris.
Now, in an ironic swapping of places, Eris’s manacles were chained to one of the beams above her head. But the look of pain on her face made it difficult for Safire to gloat. She quickly glanced to find the girl’s wrists raw and bleeding.
Stardust steel would take three days to eat through human flesh, Eris had told her.
How many days had passed?
Almost two.
Safire’s stomach twisted at the realization. But they were nearly in Axis. As soon as they made port, she would make sure they found a metalsmith who could take them off. It would be safer and smarter to head straight for the empress, but those cuffs were a perverse kind of cruelty. And Safire didn’t abide cruelty. She would just have to keep a close eye on Eris while they made their detour.
“Leave us for a moment,” she told the soldats.
As they stepped out, Safire shut the door.
“You royals sure travel in style,” Eris said the moment they were gone. Her voice had a lazy, mocking edge as she looked around the room. “The upholstery in here alone could pay to feed a starving village.”
Safire looked around her. The cabin was decorated with lavish furniture made of dark wood and upholstered in rich blues and purples. Portraits hung from the walls, and on the table, silver goblets rested beside a decanter of wine.
Eris tilted her chin toward the bed. “And I bet those silk sheets—” The words died on her lips as her gaze fell on the object in Safire’s hand. Something desperate flashed across her face.
It was the confirmation Safire needed.
“First you say you burned it,” said Eris, her eyes meeting Safire’s. “Then you say you buried it. That’s twice you lied.” Her lips curved in a slow smile. “Looks like I’m starting to rub off on you.”
The comment rankled Safire. She didn’t respond. Just grabbed the chair from the desk and turned it around, sitting down before her captive.
“I have a theory,” she said as she tossed the spindle up and down. Taunting Eris in the same way Kor had. “The rumors say the Death Dancer is uncatchable.” Up and down went the spindle. Eris never took her eyes off it. “They say she can escape any cell. That she walks through walls. That she eludes even death.”
The next time the spindle landed, Safire’s fingers closed around it. She looked up to find Eris’s gaze intent on her face. “Not so long ago, I watched you disappear before my own eyes. And now, here you are. Caught. What’s the difference between that night and this one?”
When Eris didn’t answer, Safire lifted the wooden object by its slender end, holding it up.
“It’s the spindle,” she mused aloud. “It somehow allows you to disappear.”
Eris smiled with just one side of her mouth. “Why don’t you give it to me, and I’ll show you if you’re right.”
Leaning over the back of the chair, Safire smiled back. “I know I’m right. Without it, you’re nothing more than a common thief.”
Eris’s elegant jaw hardened. “So this is what you do with all your captives, right before you march them to their deaths? Taunt them? Gloat over them?” She shook her head, disgusted. “It’s beneath you.”
Safire smarted at those words. She sat back, her cheeks reddening with heat.
But what did she care about this lowlife’s good opinion?
She did care, though. She cared that Eris was right: taunting and gloating were beneath her.
I’ve been spending too much time in the company of criminals, she thought.
Still, Safire rose from the chair, unsettled, and walked to the small porthole. “I’m not marching you to your death,” she said softly, looking out to the harbor in the distance. She could just make out wharves and fishing sheds and boats moored to docks. Beyond it, the city sprawled out and up the mountain at its back. “The empress will give you a fair trial.”
Eris snorted. “You’re a fool if you think that’s true.”
Safire turned in surprise to face her. “What do you mean?” In Firgaard, every criminal had a right to a trial. Things hadn’t always been this way, but they were now, under Dax and Roa’s rule.
“If she puts me on trial, I’ll tell the truth. And Leandra doesn’t want me telling the truth.” Eris’s eyes were unnaturally bright. “Trust me, princess. I’ll get no trial. She’ll take me up to the immortal scarps and dispose of me—like she does with everyone she hates most.”
Safire crossed her arms, turning back to the porthole, watching the smoke from Axis’s chimneys curl into the distant sky. She needed to be careful here. She knew Eris was perfectly capable of manipulating her.
Hesitant, she asked, “And what’s the truth?”
“You’ve already decided what it is,” said Eris in a small voice.
Safire turned to face her. “Try me.”
So Eris told her.
Seven Years Previous
“We’ve hidden her here as long as we can.”
Eris hadn’t intended to spy. She’d only come to Day’s room because the weavers were out of purple dye and had asked her to fetch more scarp thistles. She’d come to tell Day she was going up to the meadow.
Day liked to know where Eris was at all times.
When Eris heard voices inside the room, she immediately turned away, knowing how her guardian felt about eavesdropping. But at the sound of her own name, Eris stopped.
She couldn’t help herself; she turned and listened at the door.
“The Lumina are getting stronger.” It was the Master Weaver’s deep voice. “If she stays any longer, she’ll bring sorrow upon us.”
“I understand,” came Day’s soft answer.
“You know how I feel about the girl. How we all feel. But . . . I’m sorry, Day.”
The door opened suddenly. Before Eris could hide, the Master Weaver halted, the silver tassels of his robe swishing. His clear black eyes stared down at Eris, full of surprise.
Day stepped out beside him.
“Eris . . .”
The two men exchanged a look above her head.
“I’ll see you at dinner,” said the weaving master. Before he left, he touched Eris’s shoulder in what could only be good-bye.
As his footsteps padded away, the implications of his words unraveled inside her.
He wanted her to leave? But this was her home. Everyone and everything she loved was here. Day. The looms. Her best friend, Yew. The cliffs and the meadows and the sea . . .